


Fantastic Beasts and Terrible Places to Lose Them

by violents



Series: Carry On Countdown 2019 [1]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Abrupt Ending, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies) Fusion, Awkward Flirting, Carry On Countdown (Simon Snow), First Meetings, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Magical Creatures, Nifflers, Short One Shot, Some Plot, baz is tina, i'm kind of unhappy with the ending and might continue this at a later date, it's just the bank scene from fantastic beasts 1, just take it, shepard is jacob kowalski, simon is newt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21576241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violents/pseuds/violents
Summary: Simon sees the Niffler tug a buckle from a woman’s shoe, and scoop coins from a small bag into its pouch, and he knows he’s well and truly screwed.or, a Fantastic Beasts AU for day 3 of COC 2019.
Relationships: Simon Snow & Shepard, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, but not heaps of it
Series: Carry On Countdown 2019 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1554958
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2019





	Fantastic Beasts and Terrible Places to Lose Them

**Author's Note:**

> hey! this is my first COC fic of this year's event, for the prompt Magical Creatures. Damn, I had fun with this.  
> I know it's early, but I'm on New Zealand time so technically it's the 27th here whatever  
> I might continue it later because it was really interesting to write and I'd love to get some actual 1920s Snowbaz but it is a complete one-shot on its own.

Simon sees the Niffler tug a buckle from a woman’s shoe, and scoop coins from a small bag into its pouch, and he knows he’s well and truly  _ screwed. _

There’s a man sitting next to him on the bench— dark, about Simon’s age, wearing wire-rimmed glasses and talking quickly about whatever it is he’s here for, a loan for something or other. Simon is nodding along absently, a personable smile on his face. His mind is racing at top speed. He’s not sure how this guy ( _ Shepard,  _ he had said his name was,  _ it’s nice to meet you _ ) hasn’t noticed his bouncing leg, and how he’s tugging at his curls, and staring intently at the ground.

The bank is full of people, going about the hustle and bustle of daily life. They’re all dressed very sharply. The men are in long coats and smart trousers, and the women have their hair in perfect curled updos, and Simon feels decidedly bedraggled in his wrinkled shirt, but he supposes it isn’t  _ his  _ fault that he hasn’t had the chance to change since he arrived in America.

Shepard is still talking when Simon finally decides to stand up, with a quick  _ excuse me for one moment,  _ to walk over and stand in the queue of people waiting to speak with a teller, as close as he can get to the Niffler. He sees someone call Shepard into a room, and he looks over at Simon before standing and nervously straightening his shirt, tucking something into his pocket and walking into the room and out of sight.

Okay. So, now he can focus on the issue at hand.

Simon doesn’t realise he’s standing too close to the woman in front of him as he tries desperately to keep an eye on the little coin-stealing rascal of a magical creature. There’s a loud jingle of coins, and he sees its tiny hand reach out from under a big desk and scoop them up from the floor, a satisfied look on its infuriatingly adorable face.

Damnit, Simon wishes he didn’t love the little shit so much.

He makes eye contact with it as it climbs over the barrier between the bank tellers and the patrons, and he wants to scream.

He takes a few moments to think of what to do to get it back without being noticed, not noticing that as he stares into space he’s looking directly at a tall man with dark hair (that’s noticeably just a  _ little  _ longer than is currently in fashion) standing behind a pillar and looking between him and the gap in the barrier that the Niffler just crawled through with wide eyes. Simon blinks a couple of times, mouths  _ sorry,  _ and shakes his head to clear it. The man moves his hand to his pocket and pulls just the hilt of a wand out of it, looking pointedly at Simon, and oh, he gets it now, and suddenly he’s in so much more trouble than he was before.

He nods at him, and takes a deep breath, and he’s about to walk over and talk to him (this guy even  _ looks  _ intelligent, maybe he can think of a way to resolve this without getting a message to the American magical government) when Shepard walks out of the room looking defeated, and then reaches into his pocket, stopped in his tracks, and pulls an  _ egg  _ out of it.

Oh, this afternoon just keeps getting worse and worse.

“Hey,  _ mister! _ ” Shepard shouts, and  _ way _ to draw attention to this whole situation, “Your egg is hatching!”

Merlin,  _ damnit.  _ It must have fallen out of his briefcase when the Niffler got out, or from his pocket or something.

The dark-haired man widens his eyes even further and makes a gesture that clearly conveys a message of  _ what the hell are you doing.  _ Simon makes a similar gesture back, wishing he  _ knew. _

He steps out of line and power-walks over to Shepard, who is looking increasingly incredulous, trying not to jostle too many people or draw any more attention than he already has with his likely strange behaviour. Before Shepard can say anything else, Simon grabs his arm and concentrates, quickly thinking through the three  _ Ds  _ (destination, determination, deliberation, drilled into him by the instructor at Hogwarts and eternally difficult for him) and turning, and with a  _ pop  _ they’re behind the barrier and in the hallway leading to the bank vaults.

Shepard takes a step back and blinks hard.

“What? Whoa, what? I was there, and then now I’m—”

“Shh, c’mon, show me the egg.” 

Shepard produces it from his pocket again, and the little Occamy inside  _ is  _ hatching, and Simon gets distracted from the task at hand because it’s just so little and cute, but then he looks up at Shepard again and he looks so confused and lost that he might faint, and remembers that he really does have more important things to think about right now.

Most notably: that little  _ dick  _ of a Niffler that just crawled into the vault door.

Simon curses as quietly as he can manage (which is still fairly loud, he is not a quiet man by nature) and, as fast as possible, opens his briefcase and places the Occamy in it, gently with his big hands so as not to damage the shell, and then stands up and turns to the door, casting an  _ Alohomora! _

And, just as he’s running in and scooping up the Niffler, shaking it a bit to get the coins out as it looks at him disgruntledly, a Muggle runs in, shouting something about  _ stealing the money, then!  _

The alarm starts going off.

“ _ Petrificus Totalus!”  _ Simon shouts, then realises that he probably shouldn’t have shouted and  _ also  _ probably shouldn’t be using this many spells in front of Shepard, but he decides he’ll deal with that later.

He tucks the Niffler into his pocket, and before more Muggles can arrive and cause some more severe actual consequences, he grabs his briefcase and Shepard’s arm (who is looking frantically between the man lying frozen on the floor and Simon’s outstretched wand arm) and Apparates again, out to the street this time, in an alleyway he’d spotted earlier with some decent cover.

And then there’s the dark-haired man from inside again, looking down at them from the steps of the bank and breaking into a run in his direction. He seems like he’ll probably be helpful— having another wizard here would at least mean he didn’t have to worry about keeping all the animals in his briefcase  _ and  _ making sure that Shepard doesn’t get away without being Obliviated.

He opens his case, keeping an eye on Shepard (who is standing a few metres away and leaning against the wall, looking dazed), and tucks the Niffler into it, telling it “And next time, keep your hands off things that aren’t yours!”

Shepard, bewildered, manages “What? Wh—” before Simon turns to him with a shushing motion and then back to the briefcase, closing and locking it. When he stands up, Shepard is clutching his own case and blinking at Simon, who places a hand on each of his shoulders to get him to stand up straight, and then points his wand at him.

“Okay, thanks for not freaking out—”

“No, I’m freaking out.”

“—about all this. No, you’re doing great! Taking it like a champ. Just hold still for a second, you’ve seen  _ way  _ too much.”

And then, before Simon can cast  _ Obliviate,  _ Shepard swings his briefcase and hits Simon in the back of the head, and turns and runs away.  _ Taking it like a champ,  _ for sure.

Simon stands up after a second, rubbing the back of his neck and swearing under his breath. He watches Shepard run across the street and out of sight, and hears someone shout “There’s been a robbery!” as a group of bank security guards run down the steps.

Before he can think hard about what he’s doing, the dark-haired man is in front of him. He looks Simon up and down, breathes a put-upon sigh, and grabs his arm and Apparates to a nook a few streets over.

There’s barely room for two grown men with their backs to the walls— Simon’s chest is inches away from the other man’s, and he’ll admit that he’s a little uncomfortable with the proximity.

“What the Hell were you thinking?” he says, and his accent is extremely posh and surprisingly English. “Letting a Niffler loose in the middle of a bank in times like these?”

“Well, it was an accident,” blusters Simon, hackles raised at this man, who seems to think Simon is absolutely stupid. “Why would I do that on purpose?”

“I don’t know, just— well, who  _ are  _ you?”

“Simon Snow.”

“Not from around here?”

“No, and it doesn’t sound like you are, either.”

“No, I’ve lived here a few years, my accent doesn’t slip  _ that _ easily.”

“Oh, that makes sense.”

“Great, I’m glad we’ve clarified that— the matter at hand?”

“Right, yeah.” The man glances around the corner to check nobody’s coming.

“Listen, Mr Snow, there’s some intense things going on this side of the Atlantic around the Statute of Secrecy, and we really don’t need anyone letting Nifflers run wild in busy public places.”

“I  _ told  _ you it was an  _ accident! _ ”

“Just because it was an accident doesn’t mean it isn’t serious.” He looks around again, looking increasingly urgent and antsy. Based on what he can hear, the commotion outside the bank seems to have cleared, but there’s a woman’s voice talking loudly about something which sounds important. “I really didn’t want to have to do this, but I’m going to have to bring you in.”

“ _ Bring me in? _ What are you, a wizard cop? Do they have those here?”

The man almost smiles, corners of his mouth turning up for a second before he schools his expression and gets serious again.

“Not quite. MACUSA.” He holds up an identification card which he must have fished out of the pockets of his well-tailored, expensive-looking coat. It has a small picture of him, sharp cheekbones looking sharper in the harsh, artificial lighting, and a name:  _ Baz Pitch. _ The organisation he says he’s a part of is unfamiliar to Simon, but it sounds official.

“Ma-what?”

“Magical Congress of the United States of America. The equivalent here to the Ministry for Magic, but, though this is my opinion, better-run.”

“Ohh. Okay.”

“Wait, hold on, you did Obliviate that no-maj—sorry,  _ Muggle,—  _ right?”

Simon looks down at his hands and then to the side, nervously. He’s not sure if he’s looking for a way out.

“Uh, so here’s the thing—”

Baz groans.

“You’re kidding me. You let him  _ leave? _ ”

“To be fair, he did hit me over the head. It wasn’t so much letting him leave as him  _ escaping. _ ”

“Semantics. He’s not here. Okay, I really  _ do _ have to bring you in. You’re coming with me.”

Before Simon can protest, or even ask what the consequences are going to be, Baz grabs Simon’s arm in a surprisingly strong grip and Disapparates. 

They arrive in a huge, window-filled room with a very high ceiling. It’s an airier, brighter space than the Ministry for Magic was when Simon last had to visit, with tall, white pillars and gold detailing in the hand-rails and doors. The floor is made of near-black marble inlaid with yet more gold, and Simon can’t help but wonder where they’re getting all their money from.

“Whoa,” Simon says, feeling a little like he’s had the wind knocked out of him (both from apparating more in the last fifteen minutes than he has in the previous six months combined, and also simply because Baz has taken off his coat and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, and Simon is allowed to check him out a little bit, alright?)

“Rather nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeah! America is so much less damp and lowly-lit than England.”

“Yes, well, over here there’s a bit more space. The history of the magical world in America is fascinating to say the least.” He gestures to a statue of a few women huddled in a circle. “You will have heard of Salem, and then there’s the magical aspects behind the Civil War, and—” Baz cuts himself off. His eyes look bright when he talks, and Simon is suddenly interested in every aspect of American magical history. “Sorry, I’m getting off track.”

“Right, yeah. Right.”

Baz sighs and straightens his shirt, turning back to Simon, and draws his wand.

“For lack of a better word, you’re under arrest for violating the Statute of Secrecy and for performing magic in the presence of a No-Maj.”

“Yeah, it would be bad if I wasn’t.” Simon sighs and offers his wrists for handcuffs, but Baz scoffs and waves him away.

“We don’t use handcuffs here.” Simon lowers his hands, huffing a little in embarrassment. He must look like he’s feeling a different emotion, because Baz raises an eyebrow and says “Unless you  _ want  _ me to handcuff you?”

Simon flushes bright red. “Wh—no, that’s not— what are you even—”

Baz starts laughing. His laugh is a little haughty, but not to the point that it’s cruel. Nevertheless, Simon is even more embarrassed for it, because Baz really is startlingly handsome, which is something he will deal with once he’s dealt with  _ this  _ whole situation.

“I’m just being a dick. Come on, Snow. Please cooperate, because you  _ are  _ surrounded by highly trained witches and wizards, and it would be easier if I didn’t have to get aggressive.”

“Of course. You seem friendly enough,” Simon says, joking a little to try and move past the last thirty seconds.

“Yes, well, maybe if we had met under better circumstances I would have asked if you want to get a drink sometime, now let’s  _ go.”  _

Baz shepherds Simon towards the elevators, and he obligingly walks there.

Hindsight is 20/20, and coming to America was a very interesting decision on his part.

**Author's Note:**

> so, writing Carry On characters using Harry Potter spells is wack as hell.  
> Hope you enjoyed! Kudos and comments are appreciated.  
> My tumblr is [here](https://galaxy-houseplants.tumblr.com) if you're interested in my other fics. I've posted quite a lot.
> 
> bye!


End file.
